<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>you bring me home by sapphicbecca</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26227453">you bring me home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicbecca/pseuds/sapphicbecca'>sapphicbecca</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Archive 81 (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, and once more getting to fall in love with a magical fantasy world of whimsy and wonder, post s3-finale, regaining (some) memories! tending to wounds! swords!, with vague references to ep 2 of left of the dial</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:48:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26227453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicbecca/pseuds/sapphicbecca</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The sun blazes a sharp orange in the sky above her, and its sunbeams fall straight into her eyes, poking dizzying iridescent spots into the corners of her vision. Chris blinks a few times and then thinks to herself that trying to look at this world in its entirety is almost too much, like someone turned up the saturation in her vision, splashed a bucket of jarring technicolor paint over the pale yellow and gray-blue of the oceans she knew back home.<br/>Basically: it feels like some weird-as-fuck <em>Wizard of Oz</em> bullshit.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Or: Chris comes back to the Irons, and finds who she was before.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christine Anderson/Lou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you bring me home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>everyone always says write what you want to read, and i really wanted to read more about chris and lou so! here’s a very self-indulgent and somewhat serious somewhat tender somewhat silly grab bag of scenes post-s3 finale</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>There is a moment after Chris wakes up where she wonders if she is still stuck somewhere in-between. Her eyes are closed, her head throbbing with some crappy mix of nausea and vertigo, and she’s laying down… somewhere, she doesn’t know where, can’t tell, either, her head foggy and the sound around her staticky and muffled. Slowly, though, the world begins to realize itself around her, and then Chris can hear the ocean again, waves crashing into clarity on the shore, only a few feet from where she must be. Above her, something that could be a seagull suddenly lets loose a shriek, its call strangled and echoing. The unexpected noise jolts her out of the nauseated sluggishness she’s found herself in, and Chris’ eyes snap open as the last hour suddenly comes rushing back. </p>
<p>(The goldfish, the ritual, the roar of those alien ocean waves, looking up and seeing a man who she didn’t know, but who felt like home anyway, and making the choice to leave everything she’d ever known to come back to him.)</p>
<p>Chris shakes her head and tries to find the rest of her senses, see what they’re telling her. She seems to be on a beach again - that much is obvious. It might even be the same beach she’d woken up on before, but she’s not sure. Everything was blurred then, colors and faces smearing together as she struggled to understand what was happening. This time, though, she can hear the ocean more clearly, without that bubbling layer of static, and can even feel the sand beneath her, slippery and strange. She blinks the bright sun out of her eyes and struggles to sit up and stand in the sand, and a part of her brain not utterly focused on the results of her latest impulsive decision takes a moment to briefly note that it is rather pinker than sand normally is. She finally manages to stand, and takes a deep breath, drinking in her new surroundings and attempting to come to terms with what they mean. </p>
<p>To start, she <em> is </em>on a beach, even if the sand is pink and the ocean is such a deep blue that Chris isn’t entirely convinced the waves that crash on the shore are actually water. In any case, it’s far bluer than any ocean she’s even seen before, almost turning to shades of purple off in the distance. It foams and gurgles as the waves lap onto the sand a few feet from where she stands, and the shapes it forms in bubbles are tinged a light lilac. The sky is blue as well, but is nearly green, in contrast with the deep royal blue of the sea, and is brushed irregularly with hazy watercolor clouds. There are those animals that might be seagulls or might not be anything like seagulls flying off in the distance, weaving through the mist and the clouds. It’s all almost too picturesque; beautiful, but remaining ever so slightly unearthly, almost eerie, in its beauty. </p>
<p>(Chris remembers that Aleister called his house of living horror a work of art, and though she can sense that same undertone of otherworldliness here, she thinks anything from that house that even could be considered a thing of beauty would pale in comparison to where she is now.) </p>
<p>The sun blazes a sharp orange in the sky above her, and its sunbeams fall straight into her eyes, poking dizzying iridescent spots into the corners of her vision. Chris blinks a few more times and then thinks to herself that trying to look at this world in its entirety is almost too much, like someone turned up the saturation in her vision, splashed a bucket of jarring technicolor paint over the pale yellow and gray-blue of the oceans she knew back home. </p>
<p>Basically: it feels like some weird-as-fuck <em> Wizard of Oz </em>bullshit. </p>
<p>Turning to the left shows her that the beach stretches down indefinitely that way, as does the ocean, and it’s strange - when Chris squints and tries to focus in on the distance, it doesn’t quite make sense. The horizon looks unfinished, like she’s zoomed too close to the edges of a video game and the developers couldn’t be bothered to refine the landscape past a certain point. </p>
<p>Turning to the right shows her the boat, or, that’s what she thinks of it as, because there isn’t another word in her vocabulary to really describe it. More organic than metal or wood, groaning in a singsong sort of way, and breathing, in and out. Whatever it is, the sight of it makes her heart skip a beat in excitement even if she doesn’t know why. What she does know, though she has no idea how, is what the ship is called. </p>
<p>
  <em> The Irons.  </em>
</p>
<p>There’s a man descending from the ship, and running towards her, and it’s that same man from before, who felt like home, who said he loved her, who was home-</p>
<p>“Christine!” he calls, barely audible over the ocean’s crashing tides, and something clicks inside her mind, a single piece of a jigsaw puzzle being put into place. Not a memory, not a full one, not all of them, but - a bar. A drink, an introduction, an offer. What had he said his name was?</p>
<p>“Lou?” she says weakly, but that’s all she can get out before she’s wrapped up in his arms, and suddenly has a full understanding of the term ‘bear hug’. </p>
<p>“You - you came back, you really-” Lou says over her shoulder. </p>
<p>“Uh. Hi,” she says. Lou pulls back from the hug, but leaves his hands still clutching at her arms, like he’s afraid she’d fade away again if he doesn’t hold on. </p>
<p>“You really - you’re bloody brilliant, you know that?” He laughs, and Chris finally gets a good look at him, seeing through eyes that aren’t unfocused and dream-hazy. He’s taller than her, but barely, and wearing the exact type of long leather coat you’d expect from someone living out at sea, over a faded white shirt. He’s handsome, too, a sort of ruggedness defining his features that must come from his years on the ship, but Chris hastily files that thought away for later examination. His words are poking something distant in the depths of her mind, and as the overwhelming sense of déjà vu grows around her, she laughs as well. </p>
<p>“I think I’ve been told that before,” she says, and Lou beams. He takes her hand and leads down her down the shore towards the boat, and her sneakers slip in the pink sand, and she can taste the sweetness of the salt in the wind, and it’s all so bizarre and so, <em> so </em>real. </p>
<p>Lou brings her onto the Irons, and introduces her to the crew, and Chris does not know them, but knows she loves them. There is Sonder, who has short and tightly curled dark hair, and who seems young, barely coming up to Chris’ shoulders. There is Teddy, the literal anthropomorphic teddy bear who towers about a head over her and looks like he just walked off the pages of a children’s picture-book. There is Xkryxx, who is - well, Chris is rapidly realizing the English language is surprisingly lacking in descriptors when it comes to this new world she's found herself in. </p>
<p>They all know her and look at her like she is family, adoration and love shining in their eyes, and something inside of Chris reminds her that this is home, even if she does not know it yet. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lou brings her down to her room after that, rightly assuming that she might want a bit of space, a brief moment of quiet to recalibrate. Chris walks cautiously into the tiny room, which is mostly just a bed and a desk with a small yellow lantern hanging precariously from the ceiling. Her steps are hesitant, and she trails a finger over the books stacked on her desk. They’re medical books, mostly, which is good and makes sense, because Chris has always been good at patching people up, but there are a few others as well, various novels that look like they’re from Earth. </p>
<p>“These were all mine?” she asks, picking up the first medical book and flipping through it. The illustrations inside don’t seem to depict any human anatomy she recognizes, and the margins are full of barely decipherable scribbles, so she closes it again. </p>
<p>“Er - more or less,” Lou says, scratching the back of his head. “The novels were yours, picked up from various ports, but the others were left behind by Vic - the ship’s previous surgeon, from about a year or so before you joined us. You were able to learn a lot from them, from what I could tell. Definitely patched up the rest of us well enough, anyway.” </p>
<p>Chris nods, slowly, because the thing is, again, it does all make sense - that she’d join this crew to get the ambergris, that she’d be the one helping out with injuries and becoming an impromptu doctor - but still the memories refuse to surface, no matter how fervently she reaches out for them with empty, grasping hands. Her brain feels bruised, like she’s been pushing it past its comfort zone, poking and prodding for something that might not even be there, and it aches from the added strain. </p>
<p>Do her memories even still exist? She doesn’t know, still only getting blinks of something that could be memories or could be her imagination, or receiving otherwise vague feelings, but there’s still been nothing concrete. Will she just have to put up with the crew remembering more about her than she ever will? </p>
<p>On the other hand, she reminds herself, she’s only been here for about an hour. </p>
<p>“So… how long exactly <em> was </em>I on this ship, traveling with you all? Dan said it seemed like a few years, but he didn’t really specify.” Chris keeps her voice steady, and bends over to examine some of the stranger trinkets on her desk while Lou answers. </p>
<p>“Six years, about? Time isn’t… easy to track, here.” </p>
<p>Chris nods at that, takes a second to attempt to form a some sort of response before her eyes snag on something glinting in the corner by the end of her cot. She strides over quickly with only two short steps needed to cross the tiny room, and picks it up. The hilt fits in her hand better than she could have hoped. “No <em> way,” </em>she says, letting out a short, surprised laugh. </p>
<p>“Yeah, you actually weren’t half bad with a sword, by the end of it,” Lou says, smiling.  </p>
<p>“Shit.” Chris grins, and then pauses. “Wait, so, are you, like, pirates, or-?” </p>
<p>“Not pirates,” Lou answers, a hint of exasperation sneaking into his tone, and Chris can tell right away he’s explained this so many times already. “Not privateers. Just explorers. Mapmakers. We don’t start fights or attack those who don’t attack us.” </p>
<p>Chris raises an eyebrow. “And do you get attacked often?” </p>
<p>“Well - occasionally,” Lou admits. “But we all pull through, and you’ve always managed to fix us up afterward.” </p>
<p>“Good to hear,” Chris says faintly. She puts the sword back where she found it. </p>
<p>“So… what exactly <em> do </em>you remember?” Lou asks, voice softening. Chris sighs and sits on her cot. </p>
<p>“I don’t know, it’s - not much? Feelings, glimpses, it’s not really consistent,” she confesses, running a hand through her scraggly hair. “I <em> think </em>I remember more now than I did after I woke up, but there’s still not a lot there.” </p>
<p>“Right.” Lou’s voice is quiet, and Chris looks quickly up at him, hoping her silent apology is clear in her gaze, hoping he knows how badly she <em> wants </em>to remember now. She leans back on her cot and thinks for a moment, tries to put words that fit over the weird and slow trickle of memories she’s been granted so far.  </p>
<p>“It’s like-” she huffs in frustration. “It’s like I can feel the shape of it, I think? Even before… now, and all of this, when I first woke up, I <em> knew </em>I’d forgotten something, and I knew it was important, I just - I couldn’t remember anything, no matter how hard I tried. But now, it’s like… I mean, it’s mostly just constant feelings of déjà vu, which can actually get pretty goddamn annoying after a while, but besides that it’s only small, tiny things that are actually coming back. Names, details, a handful of feelings that are all vague as hell.” </p>
<p>“Names?” Lou asks, perking up somewhat. </p>
<p>“I <em> did </em>actually remember the ship’s name,” Chris says, recalling how Lou didn’t have to share that tidbit of information. </p>
<p>“Yeah?” </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Chris smiles. “The Irons. And, when I saw you before, out on the shore, there was something, I think - a bar, maybe? A drink?” </p>
<p>“We met in a bar!” Lou says, grinning. “And that drink would have been flyswill. A bit strong to start off with, even for you. Plus, it-” </p>
<p>“Turns your piss blue,” Chris finishes automatically, like she’s heard it a million times. Then she blinks. “Wait.” </p>
<p>If Lou looked happy before, he’s nothing short of ecstatic now. “You - there isn’t any flyswill on Earth now, yeah?” </p>
<p>“No, there-” Chris laughs. “There isn’t, I just-” she spread her hands out- “remembered.” </p>
<p>“That’s - that’s fantastic.” Lou lets out a breath. “Is there anything else, or… ?” </p>
<p>Chris shakes her head. “No, that’s - that’s it, I think. Like I said - seems to still be sticking to small details.” </p>
<p>“It’s not your fault,” Lou says, sobering slightly as well but clinging to his encouraging tone. “The fact that you remember anything is - that’s a good start, especially for your first day back. It means more memories could come, later.” </p>
<p>Chris nods slowly. “Yeah. I know I don’t have anything solid yet, but it’s - this place, it feels like home?” </p>
<p>“You were happy here,” Lou says simply. “If I know anything about the time you spent here, it’s that you were happy.” </p>
<p>And Chris believes him, and she knows it, even if she doesn’t quite know why or how. </p>
<p>“D’you think you could - I don’t know. Tell me about, I guess?” she asks, rubbing her hands self-consciously over the holes in her jeans. “About my time here, something, anything that happened, or that we did?” </p>
<p>“‘Course,” Lou says, and he drops into the chair at the desk, sitting across from her, and for a moment something in his gaze convinces Chris he’s looking at someone else in her spot. “Erm - let’s see. Well, about two or so years after you joined our crew, we stopped at this one port to pick up a few supplies, and ended up crossing paths with a rather nasty group of local Carlisian duchesses who didn’t have very kind words for me in particular. But, you just wouldn’t stand for that, so you challenged them, all to - all to defend my honor. However,” Lou chuckles slightly, “it was <em> not </em>a sword duel like you’d thought it would be, so you’re really lucky, actually, that Sonder keeps up with the latest gossip, because-” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lou eventually leaves her to have some more time alone in her room, but promises to call when dinner is ready, and reassures her that Teddy is a great cook. Chris has no idea how he can cook at all when he has big stuffed paws instead of hands and the ever-useful opposable thumbs, but nods anyway, and lays down on her cot after Lou walks out and closes the door behind him. She stares up, and the ceiling above her is a dark reddish-brown wood or something that looks like it. She’s pretty sure it’s breathing. </p>
<p>It’s just - it’s just so goddamn weird, is what it is. This whole thing. </p>
<p>Chris realizes then that she’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to suddenly regret her split-second decision to leave Nick behind for a life which only exists in her tiny fragments of memory, but it hasn’t, not yet. She’s nervous, yeah, beyond freaked-out and terrified, but there’s something inside her that just - feels right. Like she’s fallen onto the right frequency, finally tuned herself into her surroundings. She feels more awake than she has in a long time, which is saying something, considering how absolutely insane and fucked-up the past few weeks have been. </p>
<p>The Irons groans from somewhere underneath Chris, as though it’s letting out a long breath, and the relief it emits is aching and musical. A shiver runs up her spine. </p>
<p>Chris has never heard it before, and she’s heard it thousands of times. She doesn’t love it any less. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As it turns out, Teddy is a <em> fantastic </em>cook. </p>
<p>Even if the other crew members all hide their laughter after Chris nearly spits out her first bite of what <em> looks </em>like smoked brisket but apparently tastes more along the lines of apple cider and honey, once she gets over her initial shock she does have to admit that it does, in fact, taste phenomenal. Lou informs her it was one of her favorite dishes before, and when Teddy asks, in a voice that is gruff but does not entirely disguise his worry, if she likes it, Chris reassures him right away that she does. </p>
<p>That night, as Chris falls asleep to the groaning song of the Irons and the feeling of the waves rocking the boat ever so slightly, she thinks back to how Lou spent the entire meal gazing at her with a certain sort of familiar fondness, but looking away whenever their eyes locked. Chris tries not to think about what he said before, in a dream and on a beach, and turns over on her cot to slowly drift into a dreamless sleep. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>About a week goes by before Chris makes up her mind about bringing it up. </p>
<p>She goes above deck and spots Lou on the other side, attempting to secure some rigging on the deck around noon. As she crosses the deck, she passes Sonder, who looks up at her with a smile. </p>
<p>“Sonder,” they say, and Chris just gives a small awkward wave of her hands, because there’s a tug in her brain and Chris feels like she <em> should </em>know what Sonder means, but there’s just not enough there to really decipher their words.</p>
<p>She walks to Lou and reaches a hand out for the rope, the sun hot on the back of her neck. Lou nods appreciatively when he sees her, and hands her a section of rope to pull. Working the rigging of the ship was one of the first things Chris learned about living on the Irons, and found she was able to figure it out quite quickly, so she takes the rope confidently. The material is coarse and harsh against her still-soft hands, but everyone assures her they’ll toughen up soon enough. </p>
<p>“Thanks,” Lou says, a few minutes later, once they’ve wrangled the ropes into their proper place. </p>
<p>“No problem,” Chris says. She leans against the railing, taking in the bright midday sun, and Lou joins her. </p>
<p>“Beautiful day,” he remarks after a few quiet moments, and Chris takes note of that, his unwillingness to let an awkward silence stretch. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” she responds, and then breathes in. “Listen, Lou, there - there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” </p>
<p>“Yeah?” Lou looks over at her, his arms crossing loosely against his chest, more of an unconscious defensive position than anything else. Chris has to actively try not to mirror him in her own sudden discomfort and embarrassment. </p>
<p>“When I woke up here - after the ritual, when you gave me that taser thing and helped me get back to Nick… you said you loved me.” </p>
<p>“I did.” Lou’s voice is tense but tender, meek and embarrassed but confident and sure, and Chris can’t quite untangle the contradictions in it. </p>
<p>“Did you mean it?” she asks, even though she wishes she didn’t have to, wishes she didn’t <em> want </em>to know so badly it made her heart clang wildly inside her ribcage, even if she still couldn’t figure out why. </p>
<p>Lou takes a moment before responding. “I did. I still do.” </p>
<p>“And did I - were we-?” </p>
<p>“I can’t answer that for you,” Lou says immediately. “I’m not putting that pressure on you, to make you feel something you might have felt before in a dream. That’s not fair.” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Chris says, trying to keep the sullen tone out of her voice. “But you still told me, back on the beach.” </p>
<p>“I had to,” Lou says, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I-I’m not always good with - with words, with talking about stuff like this, but I didn’t tell you before you left, not really, and I should have. I was just keeping a promise I made myself. And I do love you, I’ve known you for six years, and I trust you beyond words, but you’ve only got a week’s worth of memories of me.” He sighs, rueful. “I’m not asking anything of you, and I don’t expect anything. I just needed you to know.” </p>
<p>Chris opens her mouth and then closes it. She looks down at her hands holding onto the railing, and they’re already more freckled than they were in New York. Her cheeks are hot, but she doesn’t know if that’s because of the incessant heat of the sun or because of Lou’s words, painfully honest and so close to hurting in the way an ache in your chest sometimes feels more good than bad, but there’s still something missing. She feels something, but can’t trace its root, can’t find the piece of her that explains why she feels this way. </p>
<p>“Okay,” she finally says. Lou opens his mouth and looks as though he’s about to say something else, but a rather harried <em> “Sonder!” </em>carries in from belowdecks, and with a quickly apologetic but lingering glance, he heads down the steps, leaving Chris leaning against the railing. She watches him go. </p>
<p>The thing is: she’s not goddamn stupid. </p>
<p>Of course, at the time, she’d hoped the bargain she made with Payphone would become null and void upon its destruction, but she hadn’t realized, had she? That it had already happened. </p>
<p>It makes sense, she thinks. The same way the surgeon’s books make sense, the same way that she slots in perfectly with the rest of the crew makes sense. It makes sense she’d fall in love with Lou. </p>
<p><em> (Goddamn </em>Payphone.) </p>
<p>She wonders if she would have been afforded the gift of remembering had she not made that bargain. She wonders if she would have gone on the dream journey at all. She wonders if there’s enough left of who she was in that dream to fall in love again. </p>
<p>And that’s part of the problem, she’s discovering. She’s been picturing the Chris who remembers everything, the Chris who was here for six years as someone else. She’s spent a good portion of the past week hearing stories about old escapades and adventures, full of narrow escapes and dangerous but witty plans. Except, she’s found that she can’t quite see herself in these stories: sees some other person instead, some other version of Christine Anderson, with her shock of white hair, with her sword and her clothes, standing tall and speaking the lines written for her. </p>
<p>The bizarre indescribable fantasy aspects of the stories end up being the most believable parts, because Chris can’t always wrap her head around some of the things they say she’s done. Did she change so much in a dream ritual that she woke up back to being a far different person? How much of herself did she lose? </p>
<p>One week returned to the Irons, and the only memories she has are vague ideas, grasping at thin air and concepts, all of them far too prone to dissipating between her fingers to really, properly hold onto. She almost wishes she had something solid, something to grip or sink her teeth into, but she does, doesn’t she? She’s back on the Irons now, and that is far more solid than any memory could ever be. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>During one long-winded sunset a few days later, Chris takes a break from trying to read the messy notes in the margins of the surgeon’s books and floats up from her room belowdecks, finding Lou out on the deck once more, this time staring out at sea as some of the oddest creatures she’s ever seen drift by and sing. They’re sleek but feathery, cutting through the mist in the air like they’re swimming through the ocean’s current. The sky around them is thick with citrine yellows and peachy oranges, swirling around each other and chasing the purples and blues of the ocean below that remain ever so just out of reach. There are no clouds, so the sun hangs undisturbed in the sky, a perfect circle of a blinding sunset pink hovering just above the horizon. </p>
<p>The creatures are singing as they fly through the sunset and skim above the ocean waves, the colors of the sunset reflecting off of their shimmery feathers. The music is haunting, and Chris knows she’s heard it before, but that’s all her mind offers, so there’s a lump in her throat that she tries to push down before she speaks. </p>
<p>“What are they?” she asks, hoping she sounds curious but overall unaffected, hoping she disguises the desperation in her question. </p>
<p>Lou offers up a sad glance her way, almost pitying, maybe even disappointed. “Dolphinbirds. You don’t remember them… at all?” </p>
<p>Chris stares down at the railing and shakes her head. “Should I?” </p>
<p>“Yeah, we - we watched them here, together. It was maybe three, four years ago now?” Lou sighs. “It was - we talked, but mostly we listened.” </p>
<p>Chris almost asks what they talked about, almost holds out her hands for another story starring someone who is not-quite her. </p>
<p>Instead she lets out a low breath, and watches one of the dolphinbirds drift by, beating its strange wings, warbling a song that shouldn’t make sense, but does, anyway. </p>
<p>“We can always listen again,” she decides, and so they do, gazing together at the yellowed sunset, shoulder to shoulder on the edge of the Irons. </p>
<p>As Chris listens to the song, she thinks about Nicholas, thinks about her mother, and thinks about everything she left behind to be here. She listens and thinks about Lou, thinks about a different version of her standing here with him three years ago and listening to this same song. She thinks about the rest of the crew of the Irons, how she didn’t quite fit in anywhere back at home, but here, among the most motley assortment of crew members she’s ever seen, she feels as though there is a place carved especially for her, and how she fits into that slot almost perfectly. </p>
<p>Chris cannot understand the dolphinbirds’ song in the way they might interpret it, but to her it sounds like a reminder of everything she’s lost and everything she’s gained, a reminder that if she feels such a deep sense of belonging on the Irons, an integral part of the crew, then she must finally be home. </p>
<p>So Chris listens, and as the sweeping, heart-aching chills of the song wash over her, she makes herself a silent promise. Maybe it’s unnecessary this time. Maybe it’s not important, maybe she shouldn’t even bother, but - she promises to remember this moment, this song, this exact song. She commits the whole scene to memory as it plays out in front of her, scratches it in the stone of her mind, makes sure that this time it’s permanent. </p>
<p>She already forgot once. She refuses to let herself make that mistake again. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Halfway through her fourth week there, Lou spots some massive and monstrous swirling green thing in the distance that he calls a worldstorm, so they sail towards it and two weeks later, Chris gets to talk to Nick. </p>
<p>“Nicholas,” he corrects, with that same familiar grumble, and Chris laughs and laughs and laughs. </p>
<p>(It is not all joyful, though - she gifts him a warning, and a plea of caution and care, and in return, he discloses how much quicker time has been moving in the real world - in his world. Six weeks being thinned out and stretched into two years worries her in a way she can’t quite put her finger on yet.) </p>
<p>She promises to try to talk to him again, and hopes it is a promise she can keep. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s three days after that when she gets her first full memory. </p>
<p>It’s not especially important or action-packed, just a small and complete moment. But that’s all that matters to her - that the moment is full and filled out, not a glimpse or a vague feeling. </p>
<p>She’s in her cabin, continuing to make her way through Vic’s old notes which, when she can actually decipher them, are proving to be quite useful. The Irons groans all around her, and after a few minutes, Chris realizes she’s started humming something under her breath. She blinks. </p>
<p>As much as she loved getting to see Nicholas again, she <em> does </em>still miss him, and there’s a new worry for him on top of that, now. It’s unsurprising, then, that his lullaby would worm its way back into her mind, even when she wasn’t really thinking about him. She does wonder, briefly, as she turns a page to learn more about the negative effects of consuming too much darkwater, what caused the song to slide back into her mind. </p>
<p>It’s then that the memory arrives, and Chris suddenly knows what subconsciously reminded her of Nick’s lullaby. </p>
<p>She’d been a bit sleep-deprived, she remembers, because the ship hadn’t been doing well, though the exact reason for that is still somewhat out of reach. She’d gone belowdecks, to visit Teddy in the lungs of the Irons, and he told her that the ship liked it when she sang, so she sang it the lullaby her brother had taught her, and the Irons’ sickened groans eased into healthier sounds. Teddy had nodded and thanked her, and then Chris had stuck around a bit longer, kept him and the ship company. </p>
<p>It was a tiny, more or less insignificant moment, but it’s there, again, and it once more belongs to Chris. </p>
<p>The other important part though, the one that sends glee skipping up her throat, is that it’s <em> her. </em> It feels like her, sitting in the lungs of the Irons and telling Teddy about the latest Earth novel she’s been getting through, feels like her, not someone who is adjacent to her or just almost her. It <em> is </em>her, because she remembers not only the scene playing out, but the thoughts running through her head, the slight embarrassment but mostly the glow of camaraderie that had grown inside her as that night wore on. </p>
<p>Chris closes the surgeon’s book, unable to wipe the wide smile off her face, and heads above decks, taking the steps two at a time. She finds Teddy and Lou working some ropes and discussing which port they need to head to next to properly restock. When Chris tells them what she remembered, Lou’s face breaks into an outrageous grin, and Teddy happily confirms the memory, adding in a few details of his own, and Chris can’t stop smiling. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The memories continue to arrive. Sometimes Chris will wake up with an event sitting in her mind, a conversation with a crewmate, a successful battle, a bizarre port stop. Other times she’ll trail off in the middle of wrapping a rope in its place, making a witty comeback, or shoveling down Teddy’s latest cooking creation, and will ask the nearest crew member a quiet question, a <em> did this happen?, </em>and will share a small detail or two that came back, and smile, again. </p>
<p>She takes to wearing the sword on her belt, keeping it with her. She practices out on the deck at dusk, sparring with Lou and Sonder, and, somehow, the muscle memory appears to be there still, as though her body remembers far more about her time aboard the Irons than her mind. </p>
<p>She’s on lookout every two and a half days, and finds she’s rather good at scaling the sails of the Irons to see the whole ocean laid out around them. This world where she’s found herself is immense, and unknown, and intensely beautiful, and Chris thinks she’s falling a little bit in love with it all. </p>
<p>She helps Teddy care for the Irons belowdecks, sews him up when a stitch slips out of place. She talks with Xkryxx and learns more about this new world she lives in now, learns about feeling more present in a world built on dreams. She spends time with Sonder and lets them speak, on and on, and sometimes she thinks she might even understand what they’re saying. </p>
<p>And Lou. Chris helps Lou around the ship, and she talks to him, about this world and about Earth, and she spends time with him, in his cabin where he’ll proudly show her the maps he’s been making for the past decade, teaching her about the quirks of this world and the way maps work here, or out on deck, watching the twisting colors of sunsets. On cool nights, they watch the stars, glittering in far different patterns than anything visible from Earth, and Lou points out to her all the new constellations of this world. He tells her about his love for exploring and discovering, of finding new things and marking them down, charting a course through this new and dangerous and incredible world, and she admires the earnest glint in his eyes as he rambles happily on. </p>
<p>Chris keeps thinking about his words and Payphone’s, and wonders. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bloody <em> hell, </em>Christine-” </p>
<p>“Wh- stop moving!” </p>
<p>“Well, if maybe you didn’t-” Lou cuts himself off and snatches back his bloodied hand back as Chris tries to lean in again with a dampened rag. She frowns pointedly, and takes in a breath to force her voice into some semblance of calm and controlled, but she’s pretty sure it comes out as a much more passive-aggressive singsong. </p>
<p>“Lou,” she says, “I can’t patch up the goddamn cut running across your goddamn palm if you won’t let me anywhere near it.” </p>
<p>“I’ll be fine,” Lou says, and then very visibly winces as he tries to flex his hand to make a point. </p>
<p>Chris raises an eyebrow and looks him dead in the eyes. “Dude. You literally almost got stabbed by one of those shitty pirates from the undying queen of Set, or whoever. It’s <em> not </em>fine, and you’re getting blood everywhere.” </p>
<p>“I am not-” Lou pauses and glances down at the sheets haphazardly thrown over his cot, which are, in fact, splattered with blood. “Fine. <em> Fine. </em>Just don’t press down so hard on it this time, yeah?” </p>
<p>“No promises,” Chris mutters, grabbing his hand and wetting the rag carefully with flyswill. “Look, just be grateful it’s not bad enough to need stitches. But you are losing blood, so I need to bandage it, and I need to clean it up before I bandage it. And I’ll need to keep an eye on it afterward to make sure it doesn’t get any worse. Alright. How’s this?” she asks, pressing down on the wound that slashes diagonal across Lou’s palm. He immediately lets out a sharp hiss of pain and tries unsuccessfully to jerk his hand back again. </p>
<p>“It <em> stings.”  </em></p>
<p>“Great!” Chris responds, deadpan, pulling his hand back towards her by the wrist. “That means if you let me clean it properly, we <em> just </em>might be able to avoid amputation. This time.” </p>
<p>Lou groans, and Chris resumes cleaning. Other than a few more pronounced winces from Lou, it’s relatively smooth, and she finishes after a few moments. </p>
<p>“There we go,” Chris says. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” </p>
<p>Lou makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.</p>
<p>“Alright, now I’ve just…”  Chris turns around to locate the ointment and roll of bandages sitting behind her. “I picked this ointment up at the last port, from that half-dolphin merchant who could only repeat what you said first? Anyway, it should help you heal quicker, so I’m just gonna put some of it on the wound.” She picks up the ointment and takes Lou’s hand again, scooping out a small portion of it and rubbing it slowly around the gash, which seems to have finally stopped bleeding. </p>
<p>After she finishes applying the ointment, she turns to the bandages, and cuts off a section large enough, then turns back again to Lou’s hand, and begins carefully wrapping the gauze around the cut. She ties off the bandage and then taps it lightly in the center of his palm when she’s done. “All finished,” she says. </p>
<p>“Right.” Lou blinks. He doesn’t move. “Uh, thank you, Christine.” </p>
<p>“No problem,” she says, a bit too quickly. “I’ll probably have to redo your bandages in a day or two, though, and I might want to reapply the ointment as well. And, actually, let me know how well it works? That dolphin better not have been goddamn scamming me, but you never know.” </p>
<p>“Of course,” Lou says, and he smiles at her, even though his eyes are still tight with pain. He stands, and his fingers brush up against her arm. “I - thanks,” he says again. </p>
<p>Chris just nods and stands as well, collecting her various medical supplies, and when she turns, she finds they’re accidentally standing quite close together. She makes the mistake of looking up into his eyes, and then it’s very difficult to look anywhere else. </p>
<p>“Um, I should-” Chris tries very hard to look away. There’s something way too gentle and unguarded in the way Lou is looking at her, strikingly similar to the way he looked when he found her again in that in-between space, and, honestly, it’s fucking terrifying. “I should get back up on deck. Help Teddy and Sonder out with the rest of clean-up.” </p>
<p>“Right,” Lou says again, and he’s still looking at her like that, but he shuffles backwards, just the tiniest bit. “I’ll come too.” </p>
<p>“No,” Chris says, relaxing somewhat into her familiar admonition, “you’ll stay here and rest, and you won’t use that hand for any work until I say so.” </p>
<p>Lou stares for a moment, and then sits back on his cot with a defeated huff, muttering something under his breath about being captain. Chris just rolls her eyes, smiling, and walks out, shutting the door softly behind her. </p>
<p>She takes a second to lean against the door, breathe in, and try to tear her thoughts away from the fondness in Lou’s gaze, from the way it made her feel in return. Then she breathes out, and rushes up the stairs, ready to trade her gauze and ointment in for a mop and a bucket. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sonder!” </p>
<p>“Is it those goddamn pirates again?” </p>
<p>“Sonder <em> sonder.”  </em></p>
<p>“Oh, the bloody Red Flower. Alright, Teddy, hold things down here. Chris, can you take care of the-” </p>
<p>“On it!”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Chris is growing to learn just how much the undying queen of Set truly despises them.</p>
<p>The sounds of their latest battle still ring through her head as she limps over to the railing. She pushes the last bloom off the deck of the Irons with the tip of her sword, listens as it explodes on its way down to the ocean, and then checks around for any signs of damage from the fight. Though the ship is a mess, everyone else seems to be physically fine. Lou is talking with Xkryxx and Teddy on the other end of the deck, and Sonder is starting cleanup. Chris starts to walk towards them to help, before she is reminded by a sharp spike of pain just above her knee that she has something else to take care of, first. Glancing down shows her that the wound hasn’t stopped bleeding, the stain across her pants growing as she watches, and the memory of a pirate slicing down and cutting sharply across her leg flashes across her mind again, red hot. </p>
<p>“Shit,” she mutters. She can feel the pain beginning to seep in as her adrenaline wears off, so she turns abruptly and starts to drag herself back towards her cabin and her box of first aid supplies, where a needle and thread await her. As she passes Sonder, they pause and turn towards her, eyes widening at the sight of her leg.  </p>
<p>“Sonder sonder?” </p>
<p>Chris nods, swallowing a grimace. “I’ll be fine.” Then she limps down into the belly of the ship as quick as she can, with the gash above her knee beginning to feel more and more as though it’s been set alight. </p>
<p>She stumbles into her cabin, and falls unceremoniously onto her cot, reaching underneath it to grab her large box of medical supplies. She removes her needle and thread, a cask of flyswill, a rag to clean with, and a roll of gauze. There is luckily no shrapnel to remove from this wound, so when she rolls her pants up to rest above it, she immediately gets to work cleaning it, trying to ignore how much it stings every time she dabs at it. </p>
<p>At one point, her hands tremble ever so slightly and she presses down with far more force than she intended, and she has to take a brief moment to clutch at her sheets with tight fists and let loose a long string of colorful curses under her breath before getting back to the cleaning. It’s actually a rather impressive list, if she’s being honest with herself, especially considering she’s learned quite a few interesting new additions since her return to this world. </p>
<p>When she finishes cleaning, Chris winces as she shifts to put those materials away, and then carefully threads the needle and cleans it with the cask of flyswill. She slowly brings it to hover over her leg, grits her teeth, and holds the needle as steadily as she can in her shaky hand. She decides to count down from ten in her head, hoping she’ll be able to force herself to bring it down on one. </p>
<p><em> Four, </em> she thinks, bringing the needle to the edge of the open wound, <em> three, two-  </em></p>
<p>“Are you actually trying to stitch yourself up?” </p>
<p>Chris jumps more than she’d like to admit at the unexpected sound, and barely keeps herself from dropping the needle as she looks up at Lou, standing in her doorway. </p>
<p>“Looks like it,” she says, after getting over her surprise, “unless you’ve got another ship doctor hiding somewhere to do it for me?” </p>
<p>Lou sighs and walks into the room, drops into the chair across from her cot. “Give it to me.” </p>
<p>“Um, you know what, no, that’s okay,” Chris says quickly, and Lou rolls his eyes. </p>
<p>“We all do a bit of everything on the Irons,” he reminds her, tugging the needle from her grip, “and what do you think we did before you joined our crew?” </p>
<p>Chris pauses. “You’ve stitched people up before?” </p>
<p>Lou nods, cleaning the needle with flyswill to sterilize it once more. “I had to stitch up myself and Sonder once about a year before you arrived, after a particularly nasty run-in with a more… aggressive ship of Cicadas. Plus, I’ve stitched Teddy up plenty in between doctors. Anyway, point is, it’s <em> not </em>something you want to have to do to yourself. It’s really not a great experience.” He positions the needle over her wound, and pauses, catching the apprehensive expression on her face. “Look - you trust me, yeah?” </p>
<p>“Of course,” Chris says immediately. </p>
<p>“Good,” Lou says, sounding slightly flustered, and then jabs the needle in. Chris flinches in spite of herself and balls her hands back into fists, biting down all the curses that begin to bubble up inside her again as Lou continues the first stitch. Chris can see that he’s practiced, at least, if a bit forceful and clumsy. </p>
<p>“So,” she says, desperate for a distraction as Lou prepares to stick the needle in once more, “why <em> do </em>those pirates hate us so much? That’s, like, the third attack from them in as many months.” </p>
<p>“Ah, they… don’t really like people from Earth,” Lou says, carefully pulling the thread through. </p>
<p>Chris blinks. “Why?” </p>
<p>“Lots of reasons, I think,” Lou says. “There’s a lot of… inter-dimensional politics that can end up going a bit over my head, but it’s mostly between beings from this world and the people from Earth who come in and try to make this place bend to their rules. I actually used to work for a company that… anyway, it’s not exactly personal, and honestly, sometimes, I don’t really blame them. It’s more - just a sort of stronger stance against all humans to keep out the ones who’ll try to take advantage of this place, er, try to conquer it, I guess.” </p>
<p>Chris lets that information sink in, and considers it. “So, me being here is-?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Lou gives a dry laugh. “They were already less than keen on me here by myself, even if I’m not trying to control or make this world my own, and I’m sure the rumor’s spread by now that you’re back.” </p>
<p>“Huh. Uh - sorry about that, I guess,” Chris says.</p>
<p>“It’s not <em> your </em>fault,” Lou says, beginning to tie off a stitch. “Plus, who cares what they think? They’re assholes.” </p>
<p>“That’s true,” Chris agrees, with a half-laugh that dissipates when Lou gives a small tug on the thread. “They <em> are </em>assholes.”</p>
<p>Lou chuckles. “Yeah. Anyway, hopefully they’ll start to lay off soon, get tired of us, go bother some other ships.” </p>
<p>“They better,” Chris mutters. Lou smiles as he finishes another stitch, and Chris lets herself watch him in the process for a moment. Their conversation having dropped away, his face is held in concentration, eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly parted. She notices, this up close, that there’s a faint spray of freckles splattered over his nose, barely visible on his suntanned skin. She bites her tongue and looks away. </p>
<p>Eventually, Lou finishes the last stitch, and Chris lets out the breath she’d been holding the whole process. </p>
<p>“There,” Lou says. “Told ya I still knew how to stitch people up.” </p>
<p>Chris gently kicks her leg, testing how it feels. “Yeah, you - thank you, Lou.” </p>
<p>“Of course,” he says. “Look, I’ve got to help with clean-up, so you get some rest, alright? Captain’s orders.” </p>
<p>Chris smiles. “Got it.” </p>
<p>Lou flashes her a grin in response as he steps out of her cabin, and quietly closes the door. Chris watches him go. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s been on the Irons for somewhere around six months when she wakes up with a memory sitting in her mind. </p>
<p>Or - probably six months. Even if they were bothering to count the days, time still moves oddly here. It slips through Chris’ fingers, weaves around her, days long and nights short, or vice versa. Weeks will last months, and months will seem to only contain a few minutes. It’s strange and dreamlike, and at the same time more real than anything back in her old world. </p>
<p>She feels… <em> present, </em>here. More grounded, like she spent her whole life waiting to get here. An underwhelming childhood, an indecisive stumble through college, a life in the city that didn’t really get interesting until those last few weeks of rituals with Nick, and then the one ritual that brought her here. </p>
<p>Chris doesn’t just like it here. She loves it here, loves the way the Irons breathes beneath her, loves the way the purplish ocean waves warp her reflection, loves listening to Sonder and teasing Teddy and watching the way the sun glints off of Xkryxx’s branches. She loves the backwards parts of this world, loves how none of it makes sense except for when it suddenly decides to, loves the nonsense rules it plays by. She can’t imagine not knowing about this place, this ship, and this world. It’s a part of her now, nestled and marked a place in her heart. </p>
<p>Did she feel this way the first time around? She thinks she did. No, she <em> knows </em>she did, because she’s got enough memories now, various bits and pieces and scenes that click together to create something of a picture of those six years, to remember that love and belonging she felt the first time she’d joined the crew. There’s still more that linger far away, more memories to fill out the in-betweens of the dream journey, but she has the shape of it now. She can trace who she was before the journey to who she became after, and both of those selves sit comfortably inside of her now. </p>
<p>But there is a new memory in her mind, one that wasn’t there before but has now returned like the others, and it is not alone. </p>
<p>It’s those final moments before her departure - the whales and finally getting that ambergris, but more importantly, a parting gift, a boat ride, a half-finished goodbye, and a promise to be returned. A silent unanswered plea to remember the past six years. </p>
<p>Chris doesn’t have all six years of her memories back, but she realizes that she does have everything she felt in those last few moments before she left, and it’s enough, and she still feels all of it, so strongly she feels like it’s all about to overflow, spill out of her messily. </p>
<p>She sits up and runs her hands through her hair; it’s still shock white all the way through, but hangs just long enough to curl above her shoulders, now. Another reminder she’s no longer in a dream - this time around, she grows and changes instead of being stuck in a body that is static and unchanging. She dresses quickly, and slides slowly out of her room to make her way up to the top deck. It’s earlier than she usually wakes, and the sky is still streaked pink and orange with the remnants of the morning’s sunrise. Lou, always the first to rise, stands at the helm, staring off at the unfinished horizon. It’s a warmer morning, so he clearly decided against his usual heavy leather jacket, instead just wearing one of those loose, tucked-in and laced-up white cotton shirts that Chris frequently has told him makes him look like he just strolled off the set of Hollywood’s latest cheesy pirate flick. </p>
<p>Even if he does, somehow, pull it off. </p>
<p>She crosses the deck, slick as it is with seawater, and stands next to him, taking in the view. Below them, the sea glitters in a purple-blue that doesn’t quite reflect the colors of the sunrise the way it might back home. Or - back in her old world. </p>
<p>“Hey,” she says. </p>
<p>“Morning,” Lou responds. “You’re up early.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, I, uh… had a dream, I guess?” Chris tries to add a small laugh to sound less nervous. “I think I remembered something.” </p>
<p>“Oh, that - that’s great!” Lou says, pensive expression breaking away into a grin, and Chris had to admit that she loves how excited he always gets about this, from the smallest detail she recalls to the big chunks of memory that drop in unannounced. “What was it?” </p>
<p>Chris traces the railing with the tip of her finger. “When we found the ambergris, when I had to leave. The two of us rowing to the whales, and… what we talked about.” </p>
<p>“Right,” Lou says. “And you remember all of it?” </p>
<p>“I mean, I guess so.” Chris shrugs. “I remember saying goodbye to everyone and settling off, listening to Xkryxx’s song, talking with you, but I also… I remember what I felt? The way I felt about leaving, about the crew, about <em> you, </em>it’s all - that’s all back, too.” </p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Lou asks slowly. </p>
<p>“I love you,” Chris says, and then pauses, because that’s not exactly what she meant to say. </p>
<p>(Which isn’t to say she doesn’t mean it, because she does, means it more than she’s meant anything in a long time. She’s known longer than this, of course, and suspected as much long before the memories really started to re-emerge, but she’s also always been great at avoiding how she feels, and can easily repress the fuck out of whatever she doesn’t feel like dealing with. Still, something about remembering their last goodbye made it all that much more unavoidable, all that much harder to ignore. Seeing how they left things last time seemed to light a path to show her where she needed to tread next.)</p>
<p>“You-?”</p>
<p>“You heard me, dude,” Chris says, and then she laughs for real this time, a sudden relief flooding through her. “I love you. I remember enough of the dream journey to figure that out, and I’ve been here with you long enough to figure it again, and, yeah. I love you.” </p>
<p>“You - are you sure?” Lou stares at her. “I don’t want to-” </p>
<p>“Look,” Chris says, holding her hands in front of her, “before I first started getting my memories back, I was worried that - I don’t know. That it wouldn’t feel like me? Like I’d remember, but it’d be like seeing them from a distance, like I was watching a scene on TV or something.” Chris glances up and meets Lou’s eyes, noting that ever-constant hint of vulnerability in them as she continues on. “And for a long time, I thought about that version of me who was here for six years as separate from me, I guess? Like she was a different person, but it - it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like <em> me. </em>I feel more like me than I have in… I don’t know how long.” </p>
<p>“I…”</p>
<p>“Lou.” Chris leans over and places a hand on his arm. “I know you. I trust you. I know what I felt when I left, and I know enough again that it makes sense, and that I’m feeling it again - that I still feel it. So. I love you, and I’m <em> sure. </em>Alright?” </p>
<p>Lou smiles then, a stupidly warm and gooey thing, and for once the openness in his gaze doesn’t scare Chris, not the way it did before. “Alright.” </p>
<p>“Great,” Chris says, and then grabs two fistfuls of that ridiculous white cotton shirt to pull him down into an embarrassingly desperate kiss. Lou makes a startled sort of noise against her, and then completely melts into it, shifting his arms to wrap around her. Chris responds by holding onto him even tighter, and for a moment there is nothing but the wind whipping through her hair, the taste of that salty sweetness she caught in the air her first day back, and Lou. She thinks this one moment might last a million years, fitting right in with the bizarre rules of time in this world. She slowly brings a hand up to Lou’s cheek, intending to drag him even closer to her before-</p>
<p>“Sonder <em> sonder!”  </em></p>
<p>Only mildly mortified, Chris and Lou hastily break apart to see Sonder, Teddy, and Xkryxx all standing on the other end of the deck, watching gleefully. Teddy lets out a whoop, and Sonder continues to chatter from behind him.  </p>
<p>“Shut up!” Lou calls over, but it’s far too playful and happy to hold any real malice. Chris snickers, but is cut off when Lou turns to kiss her again, cupping her cheek, and Chris finds she can barely stop grinning long enough to kiss him back. Meanwhile, the early morning breeze tangles her messy white hair as she holds onto Lou and listens to the rest of the crew tease and cheer, and she is home. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>how many times have i listened to ep 28? doesn't matter. what DOES matter is the single line that implies that chris was. in fact. pretty good with a sword.</p>
<p>anyway! thank u so much for reading! </p>
<p>you can also find me on tumblr <a href="https://thirteenthdyke.tumblr.com">@thirteenthdyke</a> or on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/lesbophone">@lesbophone</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>